The Cult of the Clay Pot

When people think of clay pot cooking, most often, they think of grandma’s ceramic casserole or crock-pot. But for those in the know, clay pot cooking invokes impassioned responses and cult-like zeal. “I found my first clay pot, a French triperie, [for cooking tripe], at a shop in New York City years ago. I didn’t even know what tripe was!” exclaimed iconic food writer, Paula Wolfert. The Sonoma, California resident and self-proclaimed clay pot “junkie” has been collecting clay pots from her travels around the world for over fifty years. “It’s a personal sickness” she confessed, “I have hundreds of clay pots”.

The history of clay pot cooking runs as rich and deep as civilization itself, from ancient times to present day and from Indonesia to Egypt. Even the United States has its own history with earthenware. ‘Boston’ Baked Beans, originally a native American dish, were cooked in earthen bean pots. Traditional micacious pots of the American Southwest Indians have a cult status all their own. But clay pot cooking is getting a renewed look as of late as chefs such as Deborah Madison and Richard Olney extol the virtues of these earthen wonders in their cookbooks. Steve Sando, founder of Rancho Gordo Heirloom Beans in Napa, readily admits to his obsession. He’ll use any one of his eighty-plus bean pots on a daily basis. Tom Wirt, of Clay Coyote, recently launched a line of clay cookware and believes that as people make more conscious food choices, they’ll want cookware with a conscience too. On a recent walk through Sonoma, Paula Wolfert quipped “of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world…” upon stumbling upon the new store, Bram. Bram, the Egyptian word for a clay pot, is dedicated entirely to clay pot cookware from around the world. The timing and location couldn’t be more auspicious as Wolfert’s latest cookbook, Mediterranean Clay Pot Cooking, (Wiley, 2009), is due out this fall.

What fuels such an emphatic following? Enthusiasts claim that clay pots lend a taste of the earth to whatever is cooked in them; a “fingerprint” of the clay, Wolfert calls it. La Chamba, the jet-black earthenware from Columbia, is smoked in rice husks, imparting a smoky flavor into the pot’s contents. Mineral qualities are said to infuse into the dishes cooked in the clay pots from Egypt, Morocco and Mexico. Micacious clay pots are said to lend a “sweet” or “balanced” quality to whatever is cooked in them. As well, clay distributes heat evenly and then holds its temperature making it ideal for cooking low, and slow, and developing flavor; whereas, cast-iron or steel pots continue to heat up unless they’re moved away from their heat source. Enthusiasts often describe feeling an almost ‘primal connection’ to their food when they cook with clay. Although Wolfert is quick to dismiss the notion that clay pot cooking is anything more than a niche market for an impassioned group of cooks, some might beg to differ…

The chef has moved!

I admit, I'm a slacker blogger! But, if you're really jonesing for me - you can read my latest article from The Crew Report on the Top 10 Kitchen Gadgets every chef needs! It's posted over at my new blog (which is still mid-rebuild)...

If you're a follower to my blog - you'll want to repoint your browser or reset your RSS feed to httpp://blog.thewaywardchef.com

And you can read my articles from The Crew Report here:

http://blog.thewaywardchef.com/articles/

And, and, and... very soon, I'll be a regular food writer for their website www.YotCru.com

Cheers,

Cristina

What’s next?

Since leaving the yachting world, I feel that my blog has been left adrift, without the wind to guide it. I just can’t write about what I cook and eat on a daily basis. Without the element of adventure, I'm feeling a bit lost. It’s not that I don’t have great fun in my kitchen - on the contrary - but there are a million blogs out there talking about what so-and-so has cooked up in their kitchen today… In yachting, everyday brought something different – like a massive storm, or the arrival of a famous guest just when all of my galley equipment decided to stop working, or the chance to shop in some crazy, local market. Some days were scary, some were frustrating, and many were insanely fun! But, I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping in my own bed at night, and not having nine roommates, and I don’t plan on returning to the yachting world again anytime soon. So, time to look for a new adventure, wouldn’t ya’ say?

I’ve been a complete recluse for the past four months writing a proposal and converting my Caribbean adventures into a book. The proposal writing process is a project in and of itself! It’s coming along – and I have a very persistent editor needling me and making sure that I don’t sit on it for yet another year and a half. But, it’s time to earn an income again and seek out some new inspiration! Some chefs find inspiration in manipulating food with machinery and chemicals, alla Grant Achatz or Hester Blumenthal; creating bubble gum flavored smoke, or peanut butter and jelly flavored spheres of indefinable ooze. That’s cool, but it’s never been what gets me excited when I’m playing in the kitchen. I draw a lot of inspiration from my environment - cooking on a yacht, perusing foreign markets, building a kitchen in a warehouse, or out in a vineyard, or even on a safari (which always sounded like grand fun to me and which I haven’t done – yet). I like the factor of unpredictability. It keeps me on my toes.

So where to next? That is the question…

Simple pleasures

My Bottarga arrived! With the patience of a five-year-old on Christmas morning, I ripped the package right open. There, before me, was a gorgeous, soft, amber cake of salted, pressed mullet roe. It smelled divine, like the ocean: briny, slightly fishy, reminding me of salted anchovies. Never having eaten Bottarga before, this was not to be just another average day - this was an occasion!

In Sardinian cooking Bottarga is traditionally cooked in, or grated on top of, pasta. In Lebanon the Bottarga is sliced thin, drizzled with olive oil, garnished with a slice of garlic, and then eaten with soft triangles of pita bread. But, I decided to go with the Sardinian preparation – with fresh made pasta, of course.

I rolled, cut, and cooked about a half-pound of fresh linguine, minced a few cloves of garlic, a handful of parsley, and finely diced about two tablespoons of the Bottarga. Then, I poured a generous amount of good quality olive oil into my pan, added the garlic and about a half teaspoon of red pepper flakes and let that cook to infuse the oil. Once the aroma of garlic filled the kitchen, I added in the Bottarga and let it sizzle just long enough to release its flavor. My salivary glands were just beginning to get happy in anticipation. I added the cooked linguini and enough of the pasta cooking water to marry with the infused olive oil, tossing it well to create a light sauce. With its subtle, briny, oceany, and stinky funk, fresh grated Pecorino seemed like a winning choice to compliment the Bottarga.

Now, don't think me greedy. Although I could've been quite content keeping this little treasure to myself, I did invite a few girlfriends over for lunch...

I served the pasta alongside a crisp salad of raw artichokes, preserved meyer lemons, and Ricotta Salata.

Finally sitting to eat, I twisted the long tendrils of linguini around my fork, making sure each ribbon of pasta was sufficiently speckled with Bottarga. I took my first bite. Heaven. The Bottarga was much more subtle than I had imagined. It lent the perfect hint of briny-saltiness to the pasta, and melted in my mouth.

Lingering over the platter of pasta, working our way through a few bottles of vin gris, chatting about life, and gardening, and food, it was a perfect meal and a perfect day. Oh, and for dessert, we did what I would assume any proper Italian would. We tore apart big, crusty pieces of peasant bread and dragged them through the salty, Bottarga and garlic infused oil from the bottom of the pot and ate that too.

Mmmm, if life were only this sweet every day (I'd never fit into my pants again)...

Food For Thought

Every year, for the past 5 years, I've gotten this asinine idea in my head that I’m going to fast. How healthy of me, right? Last year, I tried fasting at a special “cleansing” resort in Thailand. Even surrounded by dozens of other fasters, I broke down after three days and gave into my desire for solid food. Why, I asked myself, would I come all the way to Thailand and not eat? Good question. And why, again, when I am in a beautiful location with a bounty of incredible produce and ingredients at my fingertips would I willingly choose to abstain from eating? I honestly don’t know. My nutritionist tells me that my hunger is a monster that I need to let die. But, I want food! Asking a chef not to eat is like a asking a racecar driver to slow down on the racetrack. Not possible.

I’ve tried distracting myself from thoughts of food. I fertilized and cultivated the patch in the backyard where my vegetable garden will soon be. But, vegetables = food. I go on walks: past my favorite coffee shop, past my favorite restaurant. I read books - about food. Even the Internet is not safe! Last night, I’d punched in my credit card number and clicked “purchase” before I even realized what I was doing. And now, as I slurp my way through veggie broths and green juices, easing myself back into the world of solid food, I eagerly await a shipment of Sardinian Bottarga di Muggine. I think I’m going to put this whole fasting notion to rest, once and for all. I sense a plate of Spaghetti alla Bottarga in my future…

Landlubber

The ground beneath me explodes as I rip a handful of weeds from the rich, dark soil. A lacy netting of roots clings for dear life to a giant dirt clod. I knock the extra dirt off on a nearby rock and throw the weed into my rapidly expanding weed pile. I’ve never gardened before today! In fact, I’ve killed almost every plant I’ve ever owned – which really consists of only about four. Ever. In my entire life. Last week I killed a pot of tulips given to me as a house-warming gift by my step-mom. I completely forgot to water them. Plants don’t like it when you forget to water them.

Fragrant purple lilacs drip from the bushes on my street; cherry and quince trees explode with pink puffs; the apple and peach orchards look like fields of popped corn – pass the butter! The farmers market stalls are filled with transplant seedlings for tomatoes, peppers, herbs, and baby lettuces. The first asparagus of the season has arrived at the local Co-op. It’s amazing being so close to so many local, yummy edibles. On the yachts, almost everything is imported. Too often, the produce is shipped thousands of miles across the ocean to wherever in the Caribbean, or Mexico, or elsewhere, the yachts are provisioning. It’s not always feasible or possible, when you’re responsible for feeding 18 people a day breakfast, lunch, dinner, and cocktails, to make it to the little farmers market on some tiny island to shop everyday. And, those special people that own those multi-million dollar yachts, or are paying thousands of dollars per day to charter one, don’t like to here the word ‘no’ when they request organic white peaches. In February. In the Caribbean. Uggg. But to be back on land again, hooray! It’s like e venerable, local feast at my fingertips! I love being so close to my food source again! I want to grow things, to eat, but nothing in my previous 30+ years of big city living and the past four years spent on the water has prepared me for the agrarian utopia I now live in. So, how do I begin?

I planted 4 pots of herbs today; mint, lemon balm (for tea), lemon thyme, and savory. My landlord is an arborist, so my house is hidden away in a little forest of beautiful trees and shrubs, which means that I don’t have much in the way of direct sunlight. But, I do have a small, sunny patch in my backyard, near the fence. So I’m thinking of putting a few tomato plants, maybe some sort of winter squash, like acorns, butternut or pumpkin and lots more herbs, maybe some lettuces; my very first edible garden. Let’s hope I don’t kill it!

The New "New" Thing

“Love-matches are made by people who are content, for a month of honey, to condemn themselves to a life of vinegar.” ~The Countess of Blessington, 1789-1849

I read recently that bartering, though it’s been around for centuries, is the new ‘new’ thing and with the economy falling out from underneath us, the online bartering community has exploded with new websites popping up everyday. Craigslist.org’s barter section has more than doubled in just the past year! My cooking skills have been a handy bartering tool in the past. I’ve gotten discounted dental work in exchange for catering a baby shower, some yoga lessons and even tax advice, but that was some time ago and I decided recently that it was time to put my bartering skills to work again.

I’ve been wanting to make vinegar for quite some time now but it’s not as simple as just leaving a bottle of wine out in the open air – just like making cheese is not simply leaving a carton of milk out on the counter for a month – wine needs the right bacteria to make a good tasting vinegar. Many of the articles that I had read on vinegar making suggested buying a vinegar ‘mother’ or starter (essentially a ‘live’ vinegar containing the right bacteria for a good flavor) from a beer brewing supplier, while others recommended starting with a live vinegar such as Bragg’s Live Apple Cider Vinegar and then adding water and juice and allowing time for the cultures to grow before building it up with wine or more juice. One article described a complicated arrangement of garden hoses and water buckets to let C02 out of the soon-to-be-vinegar, without letting any oxygen in, and then lots of mixing and toiling, while another involved making fruit juice from fresh fruit, converting that to alcohol and then to vinegar and so on. It seemed rather complicated for a process that has probably existed for over a thousand years and most likely did begin with someone forgetting to cork their wine vessel.

So, I decided to talk to a family friend who happens to be a wine importer. If anyone is going to know about vinegar, I imagine it would be someone in the wine business, right? Right. You can only imagine my delight when I found out he heads up a super-secret vinegar society on the west coast. A whole group of people who gather together to make and taste and talk about vinegar? Awesome. He lead me to the back of his store, where, in a dark recess, underneath the stairs was a very large, glass jug filled with a deep purple liquid. “That, my dear, is made from a 109-year old balsamic vinegar starter from Modena, Italy, brought to the United States by Benedictine Monks. The starter is kept in a monastery in a location that I cannot reveal. I can’t even tell you how I received it or the Monk who gave it to me could be excommunicated from the church by The Pope, himself!”. “Wow, a super-secret vinegar starter – so sought after that a monk risked his life to give you some?”. My mind raced. I could distract my little wine-importing-friend while someone else heisted the bottle for me. But that wouldn’t be very nice. I could ask to use the restroom and siphon some off of the top of the bottle. He probably wouldn’t notice. But that isn’t nice either, and karmic retribution is a bitch sometimes… Hmmm, “would you be willing to trade something for a little starter?” I appealed to his Italian heritage, “how about some jars of homemade mostarda and homemade blood-orange marmalade?”. “Ok”, he said. “Come back tomorrow, at midnight. The exchange must take place in complete secrecy. No one can know. And bring an empty wine bottle with a cork.” Hmmm, an empty wine bottle. Now where am I ever going to find one of those?

I ran home, looking over my shoulder to make sure there were no Priory of Sion followers after me - but this is Ashland, Oregon. I’m more worried about the Prius of Sion followers. A non-violent environmental fringe group dedicated to electric cars, green energy and tofurkey. So, I returned the next night, under the veil of darkness, with my jars of homemade condiments and an empty bottle in hand…

“Hold the funnel”, my friend told me, as he poured the giant jug into my little wine bottle. Glug-glug-glug. “Doesn’t that make you just dream of salad?”, he said, as the aroma of the tangy, jewel colored liquid filled the air. I corked up the bottle, slipped it inside my coat, waved goodbye and slid out the backdoor. Walking home, my eyes couldn’t help but watch the sidewalk, taking careful steps so as not to fall.

I poured half of the contents of the wine bottle into a 1 gallon glass jug and added a bottle of red wine, gave it a good shake to aerate it, as my friend told me to do, tied a piece of cheesecloth over the top and stuck it in the pantry where it will breath and grow and turn my wine into more yummy vinegar. Then, I slit an avocado in half, drizzled it with a little bit of the remaining vinegar and a sprinkle of Maldon Sea Salt, grabbed a spoon and had a little feast. My mouth watered. There was nothing offensive or obtrusive about the flavor. It was sharp, tangy and good.

>>Sigh<<

And what's so wrong with a life of vinegar?

Mostarda di Rogue Valley

The signs that spring has sprung are everywhere out here in Southern Oregon. The warm sun melts the frosting-like snow glazing the Syskiyous. Knock kneed calves suckle from their momma’s teets and wobble around the pastures as though they’re on stilts, baby lambs and kids graze on the fresh green grass, pregnant buds are ready to burst forth from the trees. But it’s March, a typically fickle month almost anywhere in the Northern Hemisphere and tomorrow it might just snow. But I know spring is just about here and before long the farmers markets will be bursting with the Rogue Valley’s bounty. And I can’t wait…

I’ve decided to stick around for a while. Jessie, my Caribbean cheese making friend, and I have moved into a great little house right in the heart of downtown Ashland. Our humble little abode is just a few blocks from the Ashland Food Co-op, farmers market and the food mecca that is downtown. And, since I’m not working 100-hours a week, I feel like I’m practically on vacation – and Jessie and I are getting into plenty of trouble in the kitchen.

As I write this, Jessie is patiently stirring a pot of whole milk, bringing it up to temperature for a batch of lemon-blood orange farmers cheese to pair with the homemade mostarda jam and blood orange marmalade that I just made today, and the loaf of rye bread that’ll be ready to bake off tomorrow. Jessie’s being a little mopey though, I think she’s disappointed that she didn’t get to milk the cows herself, but desperate times call for desperate measures and we were having a cheese making attack so we settled for an $8.00 per 1/2 gallon bottle of Straus Family Creamery Organic Whole Milk. If you have to buy pasteurized milk from the grocery store for home cheese making, Straus is definitely the way to go (but ouch, what a price tag!). She did find a source for raw cows milk, but it’s a ways from here – so we may go pick some up after hitting the Grants Pass farmers market this weekend. Jess has promised that we would make fresh mozzerella together. Life back on land has its adjustments…

Blood Orange Marmalade

Mostarda is a traditional condiment served with bollito misto (boiled meats) in Northern Italy. It’s made from several types of fresh or dried fruit that’s been almost candied in a combination of wine, mustard essence (sold at pharmacies in Italy, it’s so pungent it will literally burn your sinuses out if you smell it) and sugar. Sweet, pungent and spicy? sounds like chutney to me! What’s not to love? I’m not even sure when it was that I first tried mostarda, but I’ve been thinking about it for years now – and, oh, where would I be without Google?

I read several recipes for mostarda and decided to use Mario Battali's recipe for Mostarda di Cremona as my jumping off point. It is full of wonderful dried fruit; figs, apples, cherries, and apricots as well as prepared mustard and mustard seeds and lots of red wine. The recipe called for “prepared mustard”. Ever walk into a store and see a jar that just says “prepared mustard”? There are about 300 different mustards at my local Shop&Kart! So, I went for the Dijon, and a bottle of Nero D’avola wine. But the mostarda turned out too runny (which could have to do with the fact that I'm eagerly awaiting the moving truck from NYC with all of my cookbooks, cooking gadgets, etc. and don't even have a measuring cup at the moment) and I couldn’t imagine the dried fruit would really absorb all of the liquid it was sitting in. So I decided to cook the concoction down a bit, which made the sauce velvety and rich and softened the dried fruit, and then I added just a small amount of pectin.

Now that it’s jelled, it’s turned into a deep purple, deliciously winey jam with a nice, pungent bite from the mustard, lush and sweet from the chunks of dried fruit and a fresh bite here and there from the addition of a very under-ripe pear (as the original recipe specified). Ok, it's a break from tradition - but wow, is it ever good! The mostarda would be heaven with Jessie’s camembert or even one of the great blue’s she’s whipped up – except that I think I’ve eaten it all. Oops. I guess I’ll have to settle for the Finocchiona sausage from Salumi Salami in Seattle, and the fresh farmers curds we're making right now. I can’t wait to attempt a fresh fruit mostarda when the stone fruits start hitting the farm stands in the summer but I’ll have to find someone who can smuggle me the mustard essential oils from Italy. Mmmm, so many good things await…

Mostarda Jam di Rogue Valley
Adapted from Mostarda di Cremona by Mario Batali

Ingredients (this makes a big batch!)

8 dried mission figs, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
2 unripe pear, peeled and cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1 cup dried Turkish apricots, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1 cup sundried cherries
1 cup dried apples, cut into 1/4 inch julienne
3 cups sugar
3 cups dry red wine
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1 cup dijon mustard
1/2 cup mustard seeds
1/2 packet of Pomona’s Universal Pectin combined with monocalcium phosphate (included in the pectin box) and water (per directions)

Directions

In a saucepan, heat sugar and wine together until boiling. Lower heat and stir in mustard and seeds and add figs, pear, apricots, cherries, apples and pectin. Simmer gently until dried fruit just begins to soften and is beginning to plump,10 to 15 minutes. Add vinegar. Test jell by chilling a spoon in the freezer then drip a small amount of jam onto the cold spoon – it should jell, and will continue to thicken as it cools. Carefully ladle into sterilized 8 oz. jars and close. Allow to sit out overnight, refrigerate the next day (or eat!).